


Collateral Damage

by istie



Series: Shoes Make the Man [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Closet Sex, Clothed Sex, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, men in high heels, murder strut, now with art!, really fucking good cake, the five stages of accepting you're into your best friend, the production of viral videos, walking in heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-25 07:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14972546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istie/pseuds/istie
Summary: Shane learns to walk in heels for a video - not just walk in them, butmurder strut.Ryan doesn't want to admit he's into it, but ... he's really, really into it.





	1. The Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skepticseptic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticseptic/gifts), [beethechange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beethechange/gifts).



> This is very much a gift for @skepticseptic and @beethechange in particular, but also for @ghoul_ish, @MercurySkies, and @doctorkaitlyn. Inspired by someone Skeptic saw today ... and then it just snowballed from there. Hope y'all catch all the little nods to our conversation! :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to @voidbee for the incredible art!

The concept was simple, and guaranteed to be hilarious.  The murder walk was well-known, and well-practiced.  Dudes in high heels? Usually resulted in some amusing footage, plus it never hurt to break down the gender binary a bit more.  But: Dudes Learn to Murder Walk in Heels?  Viral _gold_.  Naturally, this was an excellent opportunity for the iconic Buzzfeed duos to face off, as it were, and before Eugene had even ordered all the heels in the right sizes the office was abuzz with gossip and _so much betting_.  Who would wear the highest heels?  The thinnest?  Who would catch on the fastest, and who would break the most bones?

It should come as a surprise to absolutely no one that Shane Madej was topping several of those lists, most notably “who would break the most bones”.  And who, pray tell, had the most dollars sitting in Zach’s little cash box?  Ryan Bergara, naturally.

Filming day finally came.  All the contestants had agreed not to practice ahead of time (though there had also been wagers placed on who was most likely to have cheated), and they all gathered outside stage A: Shane and Ryan, Steven and Andrew, Keith and Ned, Eric and Christian. Eugene and Zach were hosting, and Eugene had been disqualified from the start, but there were already plenty of murmurs about the Try Guys having Already Tried Being Drag Queens.

For our purposes, let’s focus on Ryan and Shane.

Ryan leaned against the wall, tapping his foot.  They were the last to film: they’d already spent several minutes listening to Steven and Andrew inside the studio and the raucous laughter resulting from at least one tumble – Steven – and incredulous hooting, which began just before Andrew strutted out the door wearing drop-dead gorgeous black suede heels, two inches high, hands loose at his sides and the look in his eye reading undercover Soviet agent.  Ryan had wolf-whistled at him as he left the studio, and judging by the extra wave of laughter which emanated from the soundstage the crew had heard it too.

“So how is it?” Shane asked, from his spot leaning against the opposite wall.  “Anyone break an ankle yet?”

“Nah,” Andrew replied, wobbling _oh_ -so-slightly as he stopped and turned back towards them.  “I hear Eric got a bit scraped up, but no lasting damage.”

“Sounded like Steven fell too?” Ryan inquired.

Andrew nodded.  “Yup.  You should see the heels Eugene found for him— three inches, covered in silver sequins.  They’re more impressive than his hair.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up.  “Good God.”

“Uh huh.”

Ryan was about to ask Andrew for any tips and tricks, but Eugene’s voice floated out, interrupting their conversation.  “Shane?  Ryan?  We’ve reset, we’re ready for you!” 

They waved at Andrew and headed in, Steven passing them.  “Silver sequins?” Ryan said, grinning.

“Bit of a change from sneakers, let me _tell_ you,” Steven said, eyes wide, looking a little shell-shocked.  “Good luck in there.”

The door of the studio closed behind him, and Shane and Ryan made their way to the drop-sheeted recording space, where Eugene and Zach were waiting.   “Okay,” Zach said, “you guys ready?”

“Yep!” said Shane, grinning, just as Ryan groaned some incomprehensible version of “god no, what was I thinking”.

“Excellent,” replied Eugene, smiling and narrowing his eyes a bit.  “So,” he continued, turning to the main camera, “may I present our final contestants: the ghoul boys, Ryan Bergara and Shane Madej.”  Ryan waved, one hand on his hip; Shane gave the camera finger guns.  “We’ve picked out some _extra-special_ heels for these guys to try.  Zach, would you…?” 

“Got it,” Zach said, and stepped off camera to grab one of the two papered-over shoeboxes sitting on the small table off to their left.  Returning, he held the box out to Ryan, who took it with trepidation.  “You’re gonna like these,” Zach said conspiratorially, and followed it up with an exaggerated wink to the camera.

“Oh God,” Ryan said, “am I though?”

Eugene came up beside Ryan, putting an arm around his shoulders, leaning down slightly to rest his head against Ryan’s.  It was then that Ryan noticed Eugene seemed taller than usual… and sure enough, he was wearing heels of his own: they had to be at least four inches, they were boots rather than pumps, and they were so stunningly avant-garde Ryan couldn’t quite wrap his head around them.  They were more like articulated clockwork sculptures than shoes.  He openly gaped at them.

“Oh, you noticed my shoes!” Eugene exclaimed, and the intern manning the mobile camera panned down to catch them.  “Aren’t they stunning?”

“ _That’s_ the word, alright,” Shane agreed.  The tall man was now shorter than Eugene, and, well, that didn’t happen every day.  It was an odd experience.  “We don’t have to try those, right?”

Eugene laughed.  “These babies are coming home with me – nobody else gets to touch them.  But don’t worry, Shane, we’ve got something special for you, too.  Ryan, you should open that box… We searched far and wide for a pair of heels that would truly capture the essence of Ryan Steven Bergara.”

Ryan swallowed.  “You know,” he said, “I think that’s what scares me the most.”  He cracked open the box and blinked.  “What in the ever-living fuck am I _looking_ at?”

Eugene grinned, and Zach moved in to open the box fully and take one of the heels out, showing it to the cameras à la Vanna White.  “These are a pair of oh-so-rare and oh-so-knockoff ‘Nike’ Dunk high heels, dear Ryan, in blue and silver.  Featuring a three inch heel and a stunning low-cut ankle, these are perfect for when you really want to marry your love of sneakers with a fancy night on the town.”

Ryan was sure he was gaping like a fish.  “Three inches?”

“You’re an athlete,” Shane jibed.  “Surely heels won’t be that much of a struggle!”

Ryan shot him the dirtiest of looks and took the other shoe out of the box, then snatched the first one from Zach.  “Can’t wait to see you flailing about like— like—”

“The term is ‘wacky waving inflatable arm-flailing tube man',” Shane provided.

“Fuck you, I’m in awe of my new shoes.”

“Sure.” 

“Anyway I’ll be the one laughing when you attempt a death drop and break your fucking neck,” Ryan continued, ignoring the provided chair and instead attempting to put the shoes on while standing.

“Ah, Ryan, there _is_ a chair,” Zach started, “y’know, rather than tempting fate before you’ve even got the shoes on.”

“Nope,” Ryan said, “doing this the hard way.”

“Oookay then.”

During this exchange, Eugene had developed a rather sly smile.  “Death drop, hm?” he mused, watching Ryan struggle with the high-heeled sneakers.  “Ever done one before, Ryan?”

“Never in my life,” Ryan said, one shoe on.  “I’m going to regret bringing it up, aren’t I?”

“Well, if you’re _scared_ …” Shane teased.

“Not a fucking chance, long legs,” Ryan snapped back, “but only if you do it too.”

“Done,” Shane said, shrugging.

Eugene was beginning to look like the cat who’d eaten the canary.  “ _Well_ then,” he said, “it’s a good thing I happen to know how to teach it.”

* * *

Several minutes later, Ryan was bright red and breathing heavily, lying on the floor in the middle of the studio, groaning. 

“One more time!” shouted Shane from the background.  Ryan had just attempted a murder-strut-and-death-drop combo, and, well, he’d done himself proud to be honest.  Shane was tickled pink. 

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan breathed.  “Please tell me that’s a decent take, Eugene, my ankles are killing me.”

“I think we can move on,” Eugene acquiesced graciously.  “After all, we can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Is that what this is called?  I feel like this contravenes the Geneva Conventions,” Ryan huffed, taking Shane’s hand as he walked over and helped Ryan up.  “God I can’t wait to get out of these shoes.”  He stumbled over to the chair, slumped into it, and took the offending heels off, dropping them unceremoniously in their empty box.  “Your turn.”

Shane grinned.  “Lay it on me, man,” he said to Eugene, “I’m ready.”  Zach came over with the box, which seemed oddly small – or at least compact.  Shane took it and looked up at Eugene.  “Any introductory words?”

Eugene motioned to the box with his champagne flute, which had materialized at about the same time as he was teaching Ryan the death drop.  “Best for last,” he said.

Shane took a deep breath and opened the box.  He raised an eyebrow as he took one shoe out, looking it over: it was almost anticlimactic.  The shoe he held in his hand was a simple, elegant pump made of shiny patent leather in a deep blood red, with… “That has to be at least five inches,” he said.  “Are you _actually_ trying to kill me?”

Ryan snorted.  “Not so cocky now, are you?”

“It is a precisely five-inch heel,” Eugene confirmed, sipping his champagne.  “I saw them and just thought _Shane_.”

“What about those screams _Shane?_ ” Ryan said, baffled.  “I’d think they scream, like, _Jessica Rabbit_ , or maybe _Black Widow._ ”

“So: Shane,” Eugene said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  Ryan just shook his head.

Shane was still staring at the heels, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.  But then he shooed Ryan off the chair – Ryan vacated with a groan and went to sit on the shoebox table, feet still sore as hell – and sat down, shedding his socks and slipping his feet into the heels.  He rotated his ankle around, looking the shoes over, before setting his feet flat on the ground and testing the balance of weight.  “Alright,” he said, “here goes nothing.” 

He stood up, bracing himself on the chair, and rose up to his new height of approximately six feet, nine inches.  “Jesus Christ,” he said.  “Is this what being Garrett feels like?”

Eugene snickered.  “Probably.”

“Good… Lord.”  He let go of the chair, and wobbled slightly.  “It’s like pretending you’re a Barbie.  Why does anyone _do_ this?”

“So they can do _this_.” Eugene demonstrated the murder strut, got to the end of the filming area, stopped and turned on a dime, blowing a kiss to the camera.

“Well mark me down as horny _and_ scared,” said Shane.  “Okay.  Here goes.” 

As Shane began figuring out how to walk in the miniature stilts, arms waving out to the sides wildly, Ryan watched and contemplated.  Shane did not look attractive in the heels at _all_.  Eugene, sure, with Eugene he could see the appeal.  He had the confidence, the natural sway, the strut.  Of course, those were all learned to some degree, but Eugene just had that _it_ factor – and if there was one thing Ryan knew about Shane Madej, it was that he did _not_ have that _it_ factor.

Shane managed to execute a nigh-flawless turn, and something jumped in Ryan’s stomach.  No, he thought to himself, that was genuine concern for the welfare of his co-host.  They had a location shoot coming up for True Crime, and Shane having a twisted ankle would be hellishly inconvenient.  The growing butterflies in his stomach as Shane got more and more confident in the heels were just professional worry, nothing more.

Shane cocked his hip out on the next turn, and did what Ryan suspected was an attempt at the Blue Steel look from Zoolander, which made him snort and which _also_ made his stomach turn over.  God damn it, this _really_ wasn’t the time for his latent crush on the big guy to rear its massive head.

This was about the time that Shane first tripped, on one unfortunate turn.  The dropcloth underneath him snagged slightly, Ryan could see, and down he went like a fallen tree, unceremoniously sprawled out on the floor with an alarmed shout and then helpless laughter.  “Oh God,” Shane said, laughing, “fuck, ow, fuck.”

“You okay?” Ryan asked.  “Any broken bones?”

“Nope,” he replied, pushing himself up on his elbows, his face all crinkled up in amusement, “but the floor in here is most definitely concrete.” 

Ryan got up from the chair, revelling in the fact that his feet were flat on the floor, and gave Shane a hand up, returning the favour from earlier— and then forcing his jaw to stay closed as Shane fucking _towered_ over him.  The full eleven inches of height difference meant that the top of Ryan’s head rose only to Shane’s collarbone, and he had to positively _crane his neck_ to meet his eyes.  “Uh,” he said, blinking.  _God damn it, Bergara, put your brain back in your head._   “You’re … _tall_.”  He could have smacked himself.  _No fucking shit._

Shane did his crinkly smile again and laughed.  “Sure am, short stuff,” he said.  “Like it?”

Ryan huffed and stalked back to the chair, sitting down grumpily.  “ _No_ ,” he said forcefully.  “The universe already gave you an unfair advantage, it’s _inane_ that you get to be even taller.  I hope you walk into a door frame.  You look ridiculous.”  Objectively, he knew, this whole scenario was a tire fire.  Shane in five inch heels?  _Textbook definition_ of a tire fire.  And yet …

Shane shook with silent laughter as he began walking again, experimenting with one hand on his hip, the other raised as if holding a glass: as he approached Eugene, Eugene handed him his now-empty champagne flute, and Shane took it delicately.  “I think you’re ready for the murder strut,” Eugene said.

“You’re doing _incredible,_ ” Zach chimed in.  “Even Andrew didn’t pick it up this fast.”

“Well thank you!” Shane said, pleased as punch.  “This is actually kind of fun.”  He turned to Eugene.  “Tell me how to murder strut again?”

“Right,” Eugene said.  He straightened himself out, aiming across the studio, and demonstrated.  “Okay, so what you do is … it’s gotta come from your core, real tight, and then shoulders down, neck long, and just think _murder_.” 

Ryan’s stomach did another uncomfortable flip as Eugene walked across the room towards him. Goddamn but that man was attractive.  And Shane was not.  Shane very much was _not_ , with his weird face and his too-long limbs and his awkward everything.  Nope.  Not attractive.  Shoes didn’t help.  Murder walking wouldn’t—

Shane composed himself, set his gaze on a point just to Ryan’s right, and walked across the room, the slightest of sways in his hips, the look in his eyes dark and dangerous, and the flip Ryan felt was _definitely not in his stomach this time._

 _Fuck Shane_ , he thought, _and his stupid fucking shoes._

Eugene’s perfect eyebrows were raised higher than Ryan had ever seen them.  “ _Well_ then,” he said, seemingly at a loss for words.  “ _That_ was … something.”

“You’re goddamn right it was,” Zach said, staring open-mouthed at Shane, who had turned around and was keeping up the murder-look.  “You sure you’re not secretly a, like, a— oh my god I can’t even come up with words.  Jesus Christ.”

Shane blushed a little.  “Aw geez, fellas,” he said, slipping into his faux-Southern gentleman accent, “it’s really nothin’.”  He looked over to Eugene.  “Death drop time?”

Eugene shook himself out of his mini-trance, and nodded.  “Uh, yeah.  Yeah, it’s death drop time.”

Five minutes later, after several awkward failed attempts that did nothing to kill the awkward boner Ryan was desperately hiding under his now-removed sweater, Shane strutted across the room, turned on the ball of his foot, and sank into a perfect death drop.

“Oh my God, cut, _scene_ ,” Eugene said, “we’re not getting anything to top that, holy shit Shane since when are you so fucking graceful?”  He came forward and bent over to help Shane up: while walking (and apparently falling) were well within Shane’s toolkit now, getting up still proved a bit of a challenge.  _Too much leg_ , Ryan mused, _now he’s like eighty-five percent leg, you can’t handle that much leg, who am I kidding, I can’t handle that much leg._

Shane laughed.  “I dunno, man, you grow up with limbs longer than life and you just kinda have to embrace it.  And the heels are just an extension of that, y’know?”

“Yes, yes I do, that’s the perfect description,” Eugene said, nodding.

“Can I keep these on?” Shane said, after a moment.

Eugene blinked.  “Uh—”

“They’re actually kind of comfy now that I’ve gotten used to them, and this could be some hilarious B-roll for you if the intern follows me around for a bit…”  Shane was shrugging, his keen video producer instincts firing. 

 _Goddamn you, Shane Madej,_ Ryan thought, _you’re going to walk around like this all fucking day?_

Eugene thought it over, then looked over at the intern filming.  She shrugged.  “I got nothin’ better to do today,” she said, “sounds good to me.”

Eugene looked back at Shane.  “…More power to you, man,” he said.

Shane nodded, then walked off the stage and out of the studio— promptly _nailing_ himself in the forehead as he ran straight into the doorframe.  He stumbled, cried out, caught himself on the wall and leaned back against it, clutching his forehead.  “Jesus _Christ!"_

Ryan couldn’t decide whether to run over and check that he was okay, or dissolve laughing.  The latter option won out, and as he doubled over in helpless paroxysms of laughter he reflected on how he used to be a person of dignity and strength of character, at least occasionally, before this whole situation had unfolded before his captive eyes.  Luckily for him, the laughter killed the awkward boner entirely, but as he wiped tears away and went over to check that Shane wasn’t concussed – didn’t seem like he was, at least no more than usual – the vaguely dazed look Shane gave him from nearly a foot above him made Ryan’s brain stutter.  He was caught in an utterly dire mix of “oh _no_ , Shane’s hot”, and “oh _yes_ , Shane’s making a complete ass of himself”.

He was fucked.

“Thanks, man,” Shane said, gripping his shoulder.  “That is one hell of a solid door frame.”

“Good thing you’ve got such a thick skull,” Ryan said, smirking, but his heart wasn’t in it.

Luckily, Shane’s next comment was cut off by Zach, who spoke up, waving his phone.  “So I just looked it up and apparently US-standard doors are six-eight.  And you’re six-nine in those heels.”

“Yeah, ah … hadn’t noticed,” Shane said, looking amused and still a little pained.

“I think he means you better look out for _all_ the doors around the office,” Eugene said, “unless you like having door-shaped indents in your forehead.”

“Duly noted,” Shane said seriously.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Ryan was sitting very close to his desk, trying desperately to focus on editing.  He was failing miserably, as his attention kept being drawn across the room to where Shane was still showing off, walking around the office like he _wasn’t_ six-foot-nine of pure sex.  Everyone else thought it was absolutely hilarious and marvelously impressive, like he wasn’t _also_ six-foot-nine of awkward awkwardness and stupid stupidity.  Ryan wanted to smash his face into his monitor. 

“I’m hungry,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes and putting his head in his hands, “that’s what this is.  I didn’t eat enough for lunch, my blood sugar’s just low, that’s why I can’t focus.  It has nothing to do with Shane.  Nothing at all.  I’m going to use the bathroom and then I’m going to go find something to eat, and by the time I’ve done that, I’ll be able to think again and it will be fine.  It will be _fine_.”

He kept repeating this as he made his way to the men’s room, tying his sweater around his waist strategically yet again.  Low blood sugar could result in an erection, right?  That wasn’t biologically unrelated in the _slightest_ , right?  And it _definitely_ didn’t have anything to do with the fact that he’d had to walk past Shane to get to the washroom as he demonstrated the murder strut _yet again_ , _right?!_

He leaned against the cool wall for a moment and sighed heavily.  Denial was a river in Egypt, and he was _incredibly turned on by Shane in heels._   Five-inch, blood-red, murder-walk heels.  Hand on hip and hip cocked out, wearing a sexy smirk one second and an even sexier smoulder the next—

He groaned.  God damn it.  God damn you, Shane, and god damn your goddamned shoes.

His phone went off.  He pulled it out – it was the Tasty freebies Discord channel, one of the only ones he _hadn’t_ muted.  “ _Free cake!”_ it read. 

He had never texted “ _DIBS”_ so fast in his entire life.

* * *

Ten minutes after that, Ryan was standing in the Tasty kitchens, just about halfway through a not-very-small chocolate cake (with dulce de leche filling and bananas foster dripping from the top), mulishly avoiding making conversation with anyone else in the vicinity while he wolfed the dessert down.  Unfortunately, the only thing it was changing about his mental state was that he was going from feeling hungry, depressed, and horny, to feeling decadent, sinful, and horny— not to mention the sugar high.  He wondered if he should just pack up a little early and go home – it was already four-thirty, by the time he got his stuff together he just wouldn’t be leaving _late_ – and, well, if when he got home he grabbed the tissues and lube and got this out of his system, who was to know?  He was a goddamned adult and could fantasize to whatever he wanted to.

That was the moment that he heard the unmistakable sound of high heels clacking along the floor, and even though it could feasibly be literally anyone else, Ryan knew deep in his heart … or perhaps deep in other places … that it was Shane.

Before he could leave, hide in a walk-in freezer or something, Shane turned the corner into the kitchens, ducking smoothly under the lintel of the doorway.  Manoeuvring deftly between the hanging pots and pans, and all the preset cameras and microphones and lights, he made his way over to Ryan, who both did and did not like the way that he kept having to readjust his viewing angle as he approached. 

“I hear there’s cake,” Shane said with a grin.  “Any left?”

Ryan ate another forkful slowly, looking up at Shane, and as he swallowed his brain provided the _worst_ thought it possibly could have at that precise moment.

There was a props closet two doors down.  Ryan still had the key for it; he’d been meaning to give it back but he kept forgetting, because almost no one ever _used_ that props closet to begin with.

 _Fuck it,_ he thought.  _Just … fuck it._

“Yeah,” he said to Shane, “c’mon, there’s spare plates in the closet over here.”  He walked away, not giving Shane a chance to argue— though he tried, seeing as there were plates _and forks_ on the counter behind where Ryan had been standing.  But sure enough, just as Ryan knew he would, Shane followed, and when Ryan handed him the plate of cake he held it, looking quizzical and intrigued and _still so fucking sexy_. 

Ryan fished the keys out of his pocket, rattled them around until he found the right one, and unlocked the door, then unceremoniously grabbed Shane by the front of his shirt and yanked him into the closet, closing the door behind them and shoving a handy crate underneath the handle.

Shane, who had just barely been able to keep hold of the cake as he was pulled in, set the plate down on top of the crate and looked at Ryan, a little alarmed.  “Ryan, what’s going—”

Ryan, still holding a fistful of Shane’s shirt, pulled down on it, causing Shane to lose his balance slightly and stumble, his right leg slipping out in front of him.  Shane grabbed onto Ryan instinctively, and Ryan, who had expected this, held firm, his feet set wide.  Ryan then manoeuvred Shane a couple feet to the left, away from the door and the cake, and stepped forward, putting Shane entirely off-balance as his other leg went out from underneath him.  Just when Shane was about to fall, Ryan shoved his torso up against the wall, stepped in between his legs to let his own hips hold the weight, and grabbed the back of Shane’s head with his free hand and went in for a rough, possessive kiss just _teeming_ with the frustration of the past hour. 

He felt Shane jerk in surprise underneath him, his hands still gripping Ryan’s shoulders, and before Ryan let himself go any further he yanked his head back, staring at Shane, who looked like he’d just had the shock of his life.  “Fuck,” he grunted, “I’m sorry, Shane, this was a stupid idea, God I’m sorry—”

Shane cut his words off with a kiss of his own: his beard scratched against Ryan’s face and his slightly chapped lips parted as he kissed him.  Ryan got the tiniest hint of Shane’s tongue against his bottom lip before he pulled Shane’s head back against the wall, twisting his fingers in his hair slightly, and began kissing along Shane’s jaw, murmuring.  “Oh, you like that, do you?  You like being manhandled a little, Shane?”  Shane groaned, tilting his head back in the same direction as Ryan was pulling it, exposing more of his neck to Ryan’s continuing line of kisses.  “ _Yeah_ , you do,” Ryan continued, nipping at his collarbone underneath his button-up which, Ryan noticed, had somehow become slightly unbuttoned in the past hour.  “Do you have any idea how goddamn sexy you look in those heels?” Ryan muttered, moving back up the gorgeous column of his throat to suck a small bruise into the skin under his jaw.  “Do you know how crazy you’ve been driving me for the past hour?”

“I … _oh_ … may have had a vague idea,” Shane responded, bucking his hips up against Ryan.  “C’mon, let me kiss you too, if we’re doing this let me join in on the fun.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off _that_ easily,” Ryan growled, grinding his erection against Shane, “not after—”  Shane giggled.  “What?” Ryan asked, exasperated.

“You’re adorable,” Shane said, rocking his hips.  “You think I didn’t notice you getting all hot and bothered back in the studio?  You think I didn’t put on a show _just for you?_ ”  He dropped his voice on the last words, letting Ryan feel them rumbling in his broad chest.  “You think I didn’t see you ogling me in those heels?  Running your gaze all over me like a fucking pin-up shot, taking me in from those gorgeous red heels all the way up to my gorgeous messy hair, _do you like that I’m taller, Ryan?_ ”

It was Ryan’s turn to moan, his cock painfully restrained in his jeans.  “God _damn_ you, Shane,” he breathed, “shut the fuck _up_.”  He closed his mouth over Shane’s again, relishing the sensation of his beard again, this time taking the initiative and sliding his own tongue against Shane’s lips.  Shane opened his mouth and went for it, licking Ryan’s top lip and running his tongue along his front teeth before sucking on his bottom lip as Ryan kissed him.  Shane let his hands roam over Ryan’s muscled shoulders, tracing and gripping at turns as Ryan trailed the hand that _was_ twisted in Shane’s shirt down along his chest, tracing his ribs underneath the fabric.

When they broke for a breath, Shane licked his lips and grinned devilishly.  “You taste like cake,” he said, “and caramel and bananas and rum.”

Ryan smirked.  “Damn fine cake.  Too bad you’re otherwise preoccupied.”  He slipped his hand underneath Shane’s shirt, sliding it up along his back and then grinding up against him again, moaning softly and breathing heavily. 

Shane, who was likewise open-mouthed and panting, wrapped his legs around Ryan’s waist and pulled him in close.  “Maybe you can feed it to me later,” he murmured, his voice deep and sultry.  Ryan groaned and arched up against him, shifting forward to brace him better against the wall and removing his hand from Shane’s hair, reaching down between them and fumbling with their zippers.  Shane let go of Ryan’s shoulders, leaning back against the wall, and swatted Ryan’s hands away so he could attack the zippers with two hands.  “Oh no, honey,” he drawled, “let _me_ do that.” 

Ryan glared at him.  “The voice?  Really?  _Now_?”  Shane’s face turned from the seductive murder-gaze to mischievous glee in an instant, and he opened his mouth to speak again but Ryan was faster, slapping his free hand over his mouth.  “ _No_.  I know what you were going to do.  That was going to be Gene, or— or— no, let’s be real, it was going to be Gene.”  He glared, and leaned in, hand still firmly clamped over Shane’s still-grinning mouth.  “I already told you, you aren’t getting off that— _oh good god,_ ” he said, the sentence cutting off with a visceral moan as Shane’s hand wrapped around both their hard, leaking cocks and squeezed.  The Cheshire Bigfoot said something, but Ryan couldn’t hear it, so in a fit of temporary insanity he let go of Shane’s mouth.  “What?”

“I said, it seems like I _am_ getting off th—”  Hand back on the mouth. 

Ryan rocked forward and up, whimpering as Shane held his grip firm.  It wasn’t long before his own breaths, and Shane’s, were coming sharp and irregular, and he took his hand off Shane’s mouth again to watch his eyes start to roll back in his head, his mouth slack.  “That— that good, Shane?  You wanna do this again sometime, maybe somewhere a little more comfortable?  Spread you out on a beautiful bed, satin sheets and candles and the whole nine yards, and you in nothing but those incredible heels and _I’ll fuck you till dawn_ , press you up against the headboard, bend those long legs of yours up over my shoulders, watch you unravel underneath me—”  Shane came with a low groan, his hips jerking arrhythmically, and Ryan was hot on his heels, his breath catching in his throat and then coming out in a long hiss.

Ryan leaned forward, slumping against Shane, realizing his legs were beginning to tremble from exertion.  He tapped Shane’s legs, and bent his knees slightly: Shane got the message, unhooking his legs from around Ryan’s waist and setting them on the floor.  He wrapped his arms around Ryan and slowly slid them both down the wall, pulling Ryan over to sit beside him and wiping his hand on his jeans.

“God, we’re a mess,” Ryan croaked, opening his eyes a moment later after they’d both caught their breath.

“A hot mess, even,” Shane said.

Ryan groaned.  “You’re awful.  Want cake?”

“Hell yes I do,” he replied, and reached up to grab the plate, still on top of the crate.  “I suggest we wash these dishes by hand before putting them in the big dishwasher,” he said, grabbing the fork and shoveling a huge bite of cake into his mouth.

“You know,” Ryan said, “I wasn’t thinking about that until you said it, so, fuck you.”

“You just did,” Shane said, swallowing.  “Try harder.”  He got another forkful and held it out to Ryan, feeding it to him.  “How about – next time I wear the heels, I get a beautiful moment of you on your knees in front of me, swallowing down my cock, those gorgeous brown eyes looking—”

Ryan sputtered, half-choking on the cake in his mouth.  “Sh- _Shane_ , holy _shit_ , I—”  Shane was looking at him with the dark eyes again, and he felt himself go hot.  “Are you trying to kill me?  _Fuck_ you, holy shit.”

Shane smirked.  “That can come afterwards.”

Ryan swallowed the rest of the cake and went in for another banana and rum and chocolate-flavoured kiss.

* * *

Three weeks later, they were filming the dorkiest video ever – one of them riding an electric skateboard, pulling the other on a regular skateboard – and Shane got the devilish grin and ran back inside, leaving Ryan to ride around on the electric skateboard and holler about how he was making them all work late.

Shane came out wearing the heels and hopped up on the skateboard, and all of Ryan’s complaints died on his lips.

Ryan never had given that props closet key back, and this time it was his knees that were shaking when he went home from work.

 


	2. The Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all wanted the cake... so I made it up.

**Ingredients**

Cake

  * 1 cup white sugar
  * 1 cup dark brown sugar
  * 1 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
  * 3/4 cup cocoa
  * 1/2 tablespoon baking powder
  * 1/2 tablespoon baking soda
  * 1 teaspoon salt
  * 1 tablespoon instant coffee
  * 2 eggs
  * 1 cup milk
  * 1/2 cup vegetable oil
  * 2 teaspoons vanilla
  * 1 cup boiling water



 

Bananas foster

  * 3 bananas
  * 2/3 cup brown sugar
  * 1/4 cup butter
  * 4 tablespoons dark rum
  * 2 teaspoons vanilla
  * 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon



 

Dulce de leche

  * 1 can sweetened condensed milk



 

Extra

  * wine, for you, because this is an hours-long process



 

 

_to make dulce de leche_

  * Boil water in a saucepan.
  * Place can of condensed milk in the saucepan, on its side to let it roll.
  * Set a timer for three hours.



 

_to make the chocolate cake_

  * Preheat oven to 350F.
  * Grease and lightly flour three 9' round or 8' x 8'  square baking pans.
  * Sift sugar, flour, cocoa, baking powder, baking soda, and salt into a large mixing bowl and stir to combine.



 

  * Add eggs, milk, oil, and vanilla.  Beat on medium-high speed for two minutes.



    

  * Boil water; add instant coffee and mix to dissolve.  Add the coffee to the batter and beat on low to combine.  Batter will be runny.



 

  * Pour batter into baking pans.  Bake for 25-30 minutes.  Cake is done when a toothpick comes out clean.
  * Let the cakes cool in the pans for at least a couple hours.



 

_dulce de leche, continued_

  * Once the condensed milk can has simmered for three hours, take it out and let it cool for a while. Then open it - carefully, in a bowl.



 

_to assemble_

  * Turn your bottom layer onto a platter covered with parchment paper; slather with one third to one half of the can of dulce de leche. 



  * Next layer, same thing.  Put the final layer on top right side up, so it's pretty.



 

_to make bananas foster_

  * Melt the butter in a saucepan. 
  * Stir in sugar, rum, vanilla, and cinnamon. 



 

  * Slice the bananas lengthwise, then chop into small pieces. 
  * When the sugar mixture starts to bubble, put the bananas in; cook until thickened slightly, about 5 minutes.



 

  * Spoon or pour bananas foster over layer cake, and serve.



 


End file.
